Upon A Silent Hill
by Gotcha1234
Summary: Hannah Mills is Regina's adopted daughter, and Henry's older sister. She will learn what it means to be the daughter of the Evil Queen, try to find her place in a world that she wasn't necessarily supposed to be a part of, and learn more about love and family along the way. (Starts Season 1, eventual canon pairings)
1. Chapter 1

**Well, this is my first attempt in a long time to write fanfiction, and my first story in the OUAT fandom. It starts in Season 1, and will most likely be one chapter per episode (this first chapter being the exception). I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are welcomed!**

**(And I own nothing, except my OC)**

**A House in the Woods**

Pilot (Part 1)

Mom and I were eating breakfast at the kitchen table when Henry raced in.

"Morning Hannah. Morning mom," he said. He grabbed a cereal bar from the cabinet and hesitated before ultimately taking an apple from the bowl on the counter.

"Bye Hannah. Bye mom," he said, running out of the kitchen. I heard the front door slam as he left the house.

"Why is he in such a hurry to get to school?" mom asked me.

"No idea. Maybe they're making volcanoes in science class today," I suggested.

"Maybe. So, what did you want to do for your birthday this weekend?" I was turning sixteen that weekend and hadn't bought into all the hype about the milestone.

"Can we have salmon for dinner and red velvet cupcakes for dessert?"

"Of course. Don't you want to have some friends over?"

"You and Henry are enough for me," I grinned, taking my plate over to the sink. I rinsed it off and placed it in the dishwasher.

"Ok, darling. I'm off to work now. Could you take care of my plate for me?" she said, before handing me her plate and gathering her work-related papers from the table.

"Don't forget your appointment with Dr. Hopper after school today," she said as she left the room. I could hear her heels clacking on the tile all the way to the front door. Once I heard it shut, I cleaned her dish and placed it next to mine. I still had time before I needed to leave for school, so I went into the leaving room. The room was hardly personalized, except for the few framed photographs my mother had placed on the mantel and side tables. There's one, on the side table by the window, of me that, according to my mother, is the first picture she took of me after my adoption was finalized. She says she instantly recognized what she calls my 'panic eyes.' I'd get them when my sleeves got wet in the sink or if she left the room while I was still in my highchair. The picture on the mantel is one of mom's favorites. It's of me holding Henry right after she brought him home. My brown hair is pulled away from my face in the photo and I'm smiling like I've been given the ultimate gift. One of my top front teeth is missing, having been knocked out when I ran into a doorknob. I sit on the couch and play solitaire on my phone till I have to leave for school.

Every morning I ride my bike to school, and that day was no different. Luckily Storybrooke High School has light course work, so my books did not weigh me down. On my way to school I saw Granny yelling at Ruby about staying out too late and Dr. Hopper walking with his dog Pongo over to his offices. It's easier to notice things in small towns, people's habits and routines. Dr. Hopper always has Pongo with him and Marco is always fixing the sign above his shop. Ruby seems to stay out every night.

Once I arrived at school, the day went by pretty quickly. Russian Literature is always exciting, and pre-Calculus always gives me a headache. When the final bell rings at 2:30, I retrieved my bicycle and peddled over to Dr. Hopper's office. I chained my bike to the lamppost outside the building and sat in the waiting room until he called me in.

"And how has your week been, Hannah?" Dr. Hopper asked me from his armchair, notepad and pen ready.

"Fine. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing awful, either. Henry's been going on about our mother being the Evil Queen from Snow White. He says that everyone in town is actually a fairy-tale character, but our mom cast a curse that sent them here and they don't know who they really are," I said, sitting on the brown leather sofa.

"Who does he think you are?" the doctor asked.

"He says I'm not in there." I paused. "Because I'm from this world, whatever that means." I paused again. "Isn't it a conflict of interest, you treating both of us?"

He stopped writing on his notepad and looked up. "No, because I don't share what either one of you say with the other. And I don't let your perceptions of each other inform my treatment. If there ever comes a time when I don't think I can treat both of you because of your relationship, I will let Henry go."

"Why not me?"

"For one, I've been seeing you longer, for most of your life, in fact. And I'm the only practicing psychiatrist in town. I remember how much you struggled when you went off of your medication. Now let's get back to Henry, are you hurt that he hasn't included in this other world?"

"It did, at first. And then I convinced myself that he didn't mean it personally. He's ten after all. It could have been worse, he could have thought I was the Evil Queen."

"And is it still helping? Convincing yourself of this?"

"Yeah. I think so. I just remind myself that if thought I was a part of this, he'd probably bother me, trying to get me to remember something that I can't, because it's not real." I paused. "Now it's just a bit freaky."

"How so?"

"He's getting the way I can about things. Really obsessive. When you talk to him, you can see in his eyes that his mind is a world away. It's hard when you finally see in someone else what others see in you. I'm surprised my mom has put up with me as long as she has," I said. We discussed a few other things, my workload for the week, how to handle the stress that would accompany my three upcoming tests. When we finished, I unchained my bike and headed home.

"I'm back," I called out as I entered the house. I kicked off my shoes and placed them in the shoe rack that my mother insisted upon. Mom came down the stairs.

"Have you seen Henry? He was supposed to be here when I got home."

"No. Did you try calling the school? Maybe there's some after school thing he wanted to go to."

"I was just about to do that. I had been hoping that he was with you," she said, before heading back up the stairs. I went into the dining room to start my homework, not too worried about Henry's whereabouts. Storybrooke was too small for him to not be seen, or turn up eventually. Fifteen minutes later she came down stairs and said that Henry had not shown up for school that morning.

"Can you look for him around town while I call the Sheriff?" she asked.

"No problem. I'll call if I find him."

I rode down the most trafficked streets of Storybrooke first, then the least ones, then I checked his castle. I peddled my bike further from the town, maybe Henry had gone off to the woods, and hopefully I could spot him from the main road. As I approached the town line, I noticed another road, veering off into the forest. I didn't usually travel this far from town and when I had, I clearly never noticed this road. I turned down it, just in case. The road sloped downward, and I closed my eyes and reveled in the increase in speed as I went down the hill. When the road evened out and I opened my eyes, I saw a strange house. It was massive, even larger than mom's mayoral mansion. The first story was made of grey stones and the second and third were grey painted wood with various intersecting planks mounted on them, also grey. It could have been deemed a very modern take on the Tudor style. The house had a curved drive partially covered by an awning that protruded from the house. Distracted by the house, I did not notice a spot in the road in front of me that was missing a chunk of asphalt. I was startled by the dipping of my bike and swerved too late, the bike fell and my forearm hit the gravel at the side of the road just before my face could. I pushed the bike away from my body and sat up. I might as well see if the person living there had seen my brother, since I had conveniently crash-landed in front of it. Standing up, I dusted my palms off on my thighs and wheeled my bike up the front drive and leaned it against the pillars of the awning. I climbed up the front steps and knocked on the front door. About a minute later a man answered the door. He had thick, brown hair and a burgeoning five o'clock shadow. He seemed taken aback, not because there was an almost sixteen year old girl at his door, but because there was anyone at this door.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Maybe. I'm looking for my brother. He's about 4'10" and has brown hair. He'd be wearing a black jacket and a red and grey scarf."

"Sorry, I haven't seen anyone fitting that description. It's been awhile since anyone at all came around here."

"I can imagine. I didn't know there were any houses here, let alone people. I thought I knew everyone in Storybrooke, but I've never seen you before," I commented.

"Well, I tend to keep to myself. I'm Jefferson, by the way," he said, holding out his hand. I shook it.

"I'm Hannah Mills," I said. He glanced towards our joined hands. Something caught his attention.

"I think your arm is bleeding, Hannah." I looked down at my arm, it was indeed bleeding.

"Wow, I can't believe I hadn't noticed that."

"Why don't you come inside to clean it up?" he offered. I really must have panic eyes, because I knew I was hesitant about accepting his invitation, but he seemed to know too.

"Or I could bring the first-aid kit out here?" he offered again.

"That would be great," I said. I sat on the bench on his front porch to wait for him. Several minutes later he returned with the kit and sat beside me. He ripped open and handed me an antiseptic wipe. I pressed it to the top of the trail of wounds on arm and hissed, pulling the wipe away immediately.

"Would you mind?" I asked. "Otherwise I'll be here all evening trying to clean these." He took the wipe from my hand and cleaned each of the cuts from the gravel, as I tried to refrain from cursing. As he cleared the blood away, he asked me questions, probably trying to distract me from the pain. From his questioning, I learned that we both preferred tea to coffee, that he had a vast collection of books, and that he was an amateur cartographer. He learned that I almost never left the house without a book, that Russian Literature was my favorite class of my high school career, and that I taught myself to play the piano. I never looked at him as we asked each other questions, my eyes were fixed on my forearm, where his hands busily tended to my wounds. They moved equally methodical and gentle, as if he was experienced at creating or repairing with his hands. He rubbed antibiotic ointment on my cuts and covered them with Band-Aids.

"There. All better," he said as he applied the last Band-Aid.

"Thanks for all your help. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time," I apologized as I stood up to leave.

"It was no trouble at all. I'm sorry I wasn't of more help in the search for your brother," he said standing in front of me. I paused there, not really wanting to leave quite yet.

"Well, I better get going. Don't want my mom to think I'm missing too," I said and walked down the stairs to get my bike.

"Hannah," he called out to me. "If you ever want to read something that you're not required to, or if you just want to have some tea, you're always welcome."

"Thanks Jefferson," I said, before peddling home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter 2 for you all, I hope you enjoy it! If you can guess what novel Hannah quotes towards the end of the chapter, I'll send you virtual cookies. Reviews are welcomed!**

**Return to the Woods**

Pilot (Part 2)

The sun began to set as I rode my bike home. It was September and the leaves on the tall oak trees were starting to lose their green coloring. I rode more slowly back towards the town than I had left it. As a child, I hadn't taken many opportunities to explore the forests surrounding our town. My mother had warned me of all the dangers out there, frightened me with the story of "Hansel and Gretel," so I mostly stayed out of the woods. But something was different. I found myself more frightened of the things that could happen that I could not name, instead of dangers I could easily identify like poison ivy or getting lost.

The Sheriff's patrol car was parked in front of our house when I pulled up. I left my bike behind the house and entered through the front door. Mom and Sheriff Graham were sitting rather closely on the couch in the living room. She was on edge, but looked at me hopefully as I entered the room.

"I didn't see him anywhere," I said.

"I'll go over to Granny's," Graham said, "see if I can catch any of the people who I didn't talk to earlier." He left my mother and I alone in the living room.

"Why don't you go work on your homework," mom said, wringing her hands. I went to work in the dining room. Graham came back an hour later with nothing new to report.

Mom and Graham were whispering about something in foyer when we heard some chattering outside the house. Mom threw open the door. "Henry," she said. It was more of a question than a statement, like even she could hardly believe that he had come back to us. She ran to him, well, as best as she could in heels. Graham and I followed her shortly thereafter, but stayed in the doorway. Mom bent to his eye level.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Where have you been!" she said, clutching onto his shoulders.

She looked up at the blonde women who must have brought Henry back to us. "What happened?" mom asked her. Graham and I moved closer to hear the woman's answer, but Henry beat her to it.

"I found my _real_ mom," he shouted, and then ran inside. I moved closer to mom. She looked heartbroken.

"You're Henry's birth mother?" mom asked her.

"Hi," the woman said. She sounded almost as uncomfortable with this situation as my mother.

"I'll just go and check on the lad, make sure he's alright," Graham said and went into the house. The awkwardness of the entire situation seemed to be affecting him too. But not me. I wanted to see how this would all play out. I'd heard stories about birth mothers who decide that they want their child back after it's been placed with another family, sometimes they get custody. In all those stories, the kids were only weeks or months old, though.

"How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you ever tasted?" mom offered.

"Got anything stronger?" the woman countered.

"Don't you have some homework to finish, Hannah?" mom asked as she and Henry's birth mother passed me on their way inside. Mom went to the kitchen for glasses and went up stairs to my room. A minute later I heard the door across the way from mine, Henry's door, close. Graham's voice carried from the steps as he told my mother that Henry was fine, apart from being tired. I wanted to confront Henry about everything, but I figured it would be best to wait till morning, when I had a clear head. I finished my pre-Calculus homework and went to bed.

I woke up late the next morning and grabbed the nearest semi-worn clothing to me. Mom was eating by herself when I got to the kitchen.

"Where's Henry?" I asked, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter.

"He hasn't come down yet, I thought I'd let him sleep in a bit today, after everything that happened yesterday," she said.

"Yeah, but are sure-." The clanging of her fork hitting the plate cut me off. She placed her napkin on the table and headed for the stairs to check on Henry. I sat at the table, eating my apple, and waited for her report.

"He's gone," she called from the top of the stairs. "I'm going over to the Sheriff's office. If that woman took him, I swear-."

"I doubt she's behind this mom. She didn't seem all that interested in motherhood. Maybe he really did want to get to school early this morning." Mom didn't seem to be paying any attention. She grabbed her bag and keys and walked out the door without saying goodbye.

On the off chance that Henry hadn't completely split town again, I went over to his castle. It was part of playground that sat right on the water. It was an overcast day and you couldn't see too far past the coastline, but it was still beautiful. I think the sound of the waves lapping was just as calming to me as it was to Henry, something conducive to clearer thought. Sure enough, Henry was there when I pulled up to the playground. I climbed onto the wooden structure and sat beside him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You went missing again. I didn't think you'd be making the trek to Boston this time."

"Does mom know I'm here?"

"Nope. And I promise I won't tell her, as long as you come home later." I put my arm around his shoulders. "What brings you out here so early?" I asked.

"I'm not sure if Emma believes me," he said. "I showed her the book and-."

"Well, Emma's an adult, Henry. Adults see things differently, their priorities aren't the same."

"I know that," Henry said, rolling his eyes. I tried to think of a better way to explain my point.

"Remember when we watched _Hook_? And Robin Williams couldn't eat dinner because he forgot how to use his imagination? That's kind of how most adults are; they've forgotten how to use their imagination. They've forgotten how real and plausible the most fantastical things can be if you take the time to believe," I explained.

"But you don't believe, and you're not an adult yet. And the Lost Boys were able to convince him so I'll be able to you and Emma too." I leaned down to look him in the eye.

"Slow down Henry. I believe that it's true to you. But I can't let myself believe in it. It's not that I don't want to, because I sure as hell want a fairy godmother, but I can't let myself get caught up in a fantasy world again."

"Okay," he sighed.

"What makes you so sure that Emma's still around here anyway?"

"I left my book in her car. If she brings it back, that means she believes."

"Okay. Well, I have to get to class, which is where you should be, but I'm going to let it slide for today." I jumped down from the castle and turned to kiss his forehead. "You better be home when I get back."

I retrieved my bike at the end of the school day, but instead of peddling home, I found myself heading for the outskirts of town. It was probably the inevitable tension I knew there would be at home that drove me away. My mother's anger frightened me more than any unknowable foe in the woods. I found myself in front of Jefferson's house again, luckily I did not fall that time. I leaned my bike against the pillar again, climbed the stairs, and knocked on the front door. A minute later he answered the door, looking a bit surprised to see me there.

"Hi Jefferson. Sorry to bother. I didn't really want to go home right after school, and yesterday you said…" I started rambling, not sure what would be a proper reason for me to have shown up on his doorstep. Luckily he intervened.

"Come in. I just wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

"Believe me, I didn't expect to be here so soon either." I walked into the house and he closed the door behind me. We stood in front of each other, both with our hands in our pockets, awkward and not sure what to say. He broke the silence first.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked.

"Sure, what kinds do you have?" He turned and gestured for me to follow him. He led us down a hallway with tan painted walls, and extensive white crown molding.

"Did you find your brother?" he asked.

"Yeah, he was actually in Boston, tracking down his birth mother. She brought him back last night."

At the end of the hallway was the kitchen, which, like the house, was massive. It had a large island, the side that had stools was curved. The countertops were brown and the cabinets were white. Jefferson directed me to one of them and opened it. Inside were roughly twenty labeled jars filled with loose-leaf tea. To someone who loved tea, but had only ever had it from bags, that sight was wonderful. "This must be what paradise looks like," I said, in awe of the many containers sitting before me. Jefferson chuckled. I moved to examine the labels. "I think I'll stick with English Breakfast," I said. He nodded and retrieved the jar from the shelf. We hardly spoke while he prepared and steeped our tea, only asking if I wanted cream or sugar. I said both. We sat down on the stools at the island.

"What made your brother seek out his birth mother?" he asked after handing me a cup of tea.

"He believes our mother is the Evil Queen from the story of Snow White," I said. Jefferson sputtered a bit, just having taken a sip of his tea.

"It's ridiculous, I know. But he's got this book and he insists that our mom is the Evil Queen in it and that she's cursed everyone in this town. Our mom's not evil. She's strict, vindictive, and does have a habit of threatening people, but she can't be evil."

"But you clearly believe him, at some level," he said.

"No I don't, not at all," I said.

"Then why do you leap to defend your mother? You wouldn't have that impulse if some part of you didn't believe that it could be true."

"She's my mother. I'd defend her no matter how unfounded the claims may be," I said resolutely.

"You're loyal, I'll give you that. What else has your brother told you about this book?"

"Not much. Just that everyone from town is a character in it, and only our mom remembers who they truly are. He says his birth mother is the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, and that she's going to break this curse. He goes on and on about true love, like it's actually a thing."

"You don't believe in True Love?" Jefferson asked. I looked up at him from my cup.

"No," I said firmly.

"If I asked you why, would you tell me?"

"Nope," I said again, taking a sip of my tea.

"Well then, would you like to see my library?" Jefferson asked, officially changing the subject. I nodded and we both left our stools and took our teacups. He led me to a narrow spiral staircase and let me climb it first. The room it led to was a loft, looking over a bedroom, but the walls of the level we stood on were covered with bookshelves.

"I was wrong. This is paradise," I said. He sat on the railing as inspected the books. He said they were in order of original publication date, then author's last name. He had all the older classics as well as many of the contemporary ones. I ran my fingers along the book spines, inspecting their titles and authors. On a table to the side was another stack of books, presumably what he had recently read. I recognized the book closest to the top and picked it up.

"'The terrible thing is that beauty is not only fearful but also mysterious. Here the devil is struggling with God, and the battlefield is the human heart,'" I quoted to him. "It's one of my favorites."

We spent the rest of my time there going back and forth quoting the novel and discussing fate and free will, judgment and justice. I wasn't fully conscious of how much time had passed till I noticed the sun setting outside.

"I should really get going. Don't want my mother to think her other child is missing," I said jokingly. Jefferson walked me to the door.

"Remember, you're welcome anytime, Hannah," he said. I thanked him and peddled home.

Mom and Henry were eating dinner when arrived. I joined them. Mom didn't seem to care that I hadn't been home all afternoon and evening. She asked me how my day was and if I had a lot of homework, and that was all. A little after eight, while I was in my room, Henry called for me. He excitedly pointed to the clock tower from his window. This was the first time in my life I had seen it read anything but 8:15.

"It's working," he said. "It's working." I sighed and went back to my room, finished my homework, and went to bed.

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**An Ordinary Day**

The Thing You Love the Most (Part 1)

"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." –Kurt Vonnegut, _Mother Night_

I woke fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to go off at 7:00 the next morning, and took the extra time to critically examine my room. My walls were painted with glossy blue and green paint that covered an awful shade of pink wallpaper. When I was twelve I purchased the paint myself and covered up the wallpaper without my mom noticing. Of course I couldn't keep her out of my room forever. A day later she came in to wake me up for school and obviously noticed the change. I was then subjected to a thirty-minute lecture about receiving permission and the noxious paint fumes I could have exposed myself to. I think she got used to the color change, but not the fact that I went behind her back. On my bedroom walls were many bookshelves, in fact, all of the wall space not occupied by my bed, dresser, or desk were occupied by bookshelves. I hardly ever sat at my desk to do homework; I could always concentrate better outside of my room. The surface of my desk was covered mostly by stray pieces of paper that held varying levels of sentimentality: movie ticket stubs, particularly artistic notebook doodles, report card comments, resonant quotations, and cookie recipes. My desk chair was piled high with jackets and sweaters that I hadn't bothered to hang up immediately. The floor of my room was hardwood, like the rest of the floors in the mayoral mansion, but there was also an area rug that I'd had since I was ten. It was circular and had all of the continents stitched on it, more or less accurately. Sometimes when the wooden floors were unbearably cold, I'd burry my toes in the plush carpet where the Gulf of Mexico was supposed to be.

Next to my bed I had a stack of books that I was currently reading. I picked up the poetry collection at the top of the stack. The Storybrooke Public Library had been closed all my life and the only bookstore in town didn't carry anything published after 1983, I had checked. The collection I read in bed that morning was one of the many books I had purchased online. I read it until my alarm finally went off. When it did, I placed the collection back on the stack and climbed out of bed. I grabbed my robe from the stack of clothing on my desk chair and went to the bathroom that Henry and I shared. On the counter there was a bottle of lemon scented hand soap and a cup that held both of our toothbrushes. We each had a basket for brushes and combs, mine held many more than Henry's, as I was always trying to tame my unpredictable hair. I took my robe off and hung it on one of the hooks mounted on the back of the door. After turning the shower on and adjusting the temperature, I took off my pajamas and left them on the toilet lid. I stepped into the shower and reveled in the warm water running down my body. My shower lasted fifteen minutes, and afterwards I dried off, put on my robe, and blow-dried my hair. I brushed my teeth and went back to my room. After placing my pajamas on the bed, I threw on some clean clothes from my dresser and laced up my favorite black boots. Before leaving my room I grabbed my black denim jacket and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, I poured myself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the island to eat. I was halfway through the bowl when my mom and Henry entered the room. Henry put his backpack down and pulled a cereal box from the cabinet. Mom was holding his book.

"Hannah, I'm going to need you to walk your brother to school for the next two weeks," mom said.

"Why?" I asked, putting my spoon down.

"Because I asked you to," she said, sharpening her tone a bit.

"Henry's not going to run away again, are you Henry?" I asked him.

"Nope," he said, sitting down with his cereal, next to me at the island.

"See, he won't," I insisted, taking a bite of my cereal.

"Hannah, this is me asking nicely." Mom put one hand on the surface of the island and leaned in. Her eyes constricted, like a snake, coiled and squeezing the life out of its prey. I looked down at my soggy cereal, hoping it would give me the courage to refuse her. It didn't seem to have the answers that day, so I looked up at her and said, "Ok."

"I have to go." Mom paused, as if she had to censor what she said next. "See to something," she finished. She left the kitchen, heading towards her study. A minute or two later we could see her again, briefcase in hand.

"Have a good day at school you two," she called before exiting the house. Henry looked up from his cereal at the sound of the front door closing.

"Can we stop at Granny's?" He asked.

"No Henry," I said. Standing up, I left the island and took my dish to the sink.

"Mom didn't say you had to take me directly to school," he insisted.

"That's just semantics," I said.

"Please Hannah, I think Emma will be there."

"Why do you think that?" I asked while rinsing out my cereal bowl.

"Where else can you get breakfast in Storybrooke?" Henry had a point. The Rabbit Hole was the only other establishment in town that served food, and most of it was deep fried or served "with club sauce."

"Fine. But if this gets back to mom," I paused in an attempt to come up with a suitable threat. "I'll tell her you ran away while I was getting ready to leave."

"Please, I'm already grounded. What else is she going to do?"

"You're the one claiming she's the Evil Queen, so use your imagination," I taunted. Henry looked down at his cereal.

"You don't think she'd poison me, right?" He asked.

"Of course not. Emma, on the other hand…" I trailed off and turned from the sink to face him. Henry jumped up from his chair and carried his bowl over to the counter. He placed it by the sink and picked his backpack up from the floor.

"Let's go," he said while putting it on. He headed for the front door while I put my jacket on and retrieved my backpack from the dining room. We met in the foyer and exited the house together. After I got my bicycle, we walked to Granny's. Much of the walk was spent in silence. Henry mentioned that mom had confronted him that morning about the storybook. He said that she wanted to know the whereabouts of some missing pages. I don't think he meant to tell me that he told her she wasn't his mother. I must have stopped walking for a second, because I remember Henry telling me to hurry up. I couldn't believe he would say that to her. Yes, she wasn't our biological mother, but she was our mother in every other sense of the word. Mom could be mean at times, ruthless is getting what she wanted, but she was still our mother. Maybe letting Henry spend more time with Emma wasn't such a good idea.

When we got to Granny's I locked my bike to the fence while Henry went inside. When I joined him he was standing at the counter talking to Ruby.

"When Emma gets here, could you bring her hot chocolate with–."

"–cinnamon on top," Ruby finished. Henry put the exact change on the counter, two dollars and thirteen cents. He turned and I led him over to our table. It was tucked away in the corner of the diner but still well lit by the wide window in front of it. Graham was sitting in one of the booths, index finger gliding along the rim of his coffee cup. I took the seat closest to the wall and facing the window. Henry sat next to me. I told him that we'd wait ten minutes and if Emma didn't stop in we'd have to leave. He didn't argue, but kept insisting that she'd be there.

Emma did show up, to my surprise, about five minutes later. She walked in and headed straight for the counter without noticing us. With her she had a copy of the _Daily Mirror_ and an apple. Shortly thereafter, Ruby brought her the hot chocolate and said something to her. She turned around walked over to Graham's booth. Henry and I could hear their conversation.

"So you decided to stay," Graham commented.

"Observant. Important for a cop," Emma said.

"That's good news for our tourist business, bad for our local signage," he paused. "It's–it's a joke…because you ran over our sign."

"Look, the cocoa was a nice gesture, and I am impressed that you guessed that I cinnamon in my chocolate, 'cause most people don't, but I am not here to flirt. So, thank you, but no thank you."

"I didn't send it," he said. At this point, Henry turns around and joins the conversation

"I did. I like cinnamon, too," Henry said, getting up from his chair. I did as well.

"Don't you have school?" She asked.

"Duh," he said. "Walk us." The three of us exited Granny's. After I retrieved my bicycle, we made our way towards the elementary school. I was the first to speak.

"I don't think we've been formally introduced," I said, holding my hand out to Emma. "I'm Hannah, Henry's sister." She shook my hand.

"Emma," she said and turned to address Henry. They spoke for the entire walk to Henry's school. He explained his plan to her, it's called 'Operation Cobra.' It also seemed that my earlier suggestion that mom might try to poison Emma was right. Sort of. Apparently mom dropped off a basket of apples for Emma that morning. Unless the cyanide in the seeds of the apples permeated the seeds themselves, there was little chance Emma would have actually died from eating the apple. Right? After Henry threw away the apple, Emma tried to articulate the consequences of Henry's theory, that the people of Storybrooke had been wandering around for years without aging or recollection of their pasts. Henry pulled out the storybook from his backpack and showed us where he had torn out incriminating pages. One of them had an illustration of Prince Charming placing an infant into a wardrobe. "Emma" was clearly embroidered on the baby blanket.

She tried to downplay the coincidence by patronizing him, but Henry wouldn't have it. He tried to convince her that what he perceived as her own self-doubt was normal and that she would believe in time. It was a bit heartbreaking, watching the exchange. Henry was absolutely confident that what Emma was feeling would change, because that's just how all the stories he knew worked. No one really believes in themselves at the beginning. But Emma wouldn't ever believe. She was an adult, she knew better than to believe in something as fantastical as Henry proposed. But for the time being it seemed that she would string him along with the hope that he might be able to change her mind. At that point we arrived at Henry's school, and he walked away from us, confident that he had convinced her of the plausibility of his story.

. "I gotta go, but I'll find you later and we can get started. I knew you'd believe me!" He said, walking away from us and towards the building.

"I knew you'd believe me!" He said.

"I never said I did!"

"Why else would you be here?" I could have come with many better answers as to why she was still here: because she was in fact his mother, and she was genuinely concerned for her son's mental wellbeing; because she felt guilty for giving him up ten years ago; because she had been wanting to get away from Boston for awhile and this opportunity happened to present itself.

My old school teacher, Henry's current one, Ms. Blanchard, approached us.

"It's good to see his smile back. And it's good to see you too, Hannah." I smiled and nodded at her.

"I didn't do anything," Emma insisted.

"You stayed. So, does the mayor know you're still here?"

"Oh she knows. What is her deal? She's not a great people person, how did she get elected?"

"She's been Mayor as long as I can remember. No one's ever been brave enough to run against her. She inspires quite a bit of, well, fear. I'm afraid I only made things worse by giving Henry that book and now he thinks she's the Evil Queen."

"Who does he think you are?" Emma asked.

"It's silly."

Emma laughed and said, "I just got five minutes of silly. Lay it on me."

"Snow White. Who does he think you are?"

"I'm not in the book…Can I ask you a favor? Regina mentioned the kid's in therapy; do you know where I can find the doctor?"

"I can help with that," I cut in. "Dr. Hopper's office is on my way to school." Emma said thanks and we both said our goodbyes to Ms. Blanchard. We headed back towards the center of town in silence. Emma spoke first, after Henry's school was out of sight.

"Do you know how long your mom has been mayor, Hannah?" She asked. I don't know why, but I never really thought about it before. For as long as I could remember she'd always been mayor. I remember the elections, but never the campaigning. She always ran unopposed. When I was little, before she adopted Henry, she'd take me with her to the polls. I'd hold her hand as the election judge would find her card amongst many in a cardboard box. She'd lead us over to the booth and pick me up so that I could see what she was doing. Sometimes she'd even let me press the buttons.

"I can't remember a time when she wasn't in office." Emma nodded solemnly, but didn't press me for any more information.

"How long do you think you'll be staying in Storybrooke?" I asked.

"Not sure," she said. Dissatisfied with her answer, I stopped walking and turned to face her. She paused, a few steps ahead of me.

"But you're not going to take him away, right?"

She hesitated. "No. I'm just here to make sure that Henry is okay and," she paused. "Stable."

I nodded and we continued walking. What do you think about his obsession?" I asked her.

"With fairytales? Well, it's kind of crazy." I nodded.

"Just don't tell him that. But also don't encourage his obsession. You have to walk a fine line in these situations."

"These situations? So this has happened with Henry before?"

"No, it's new for him. But not for me," I said.

"So what triggered it for you?"

I paused before answering. I didn't expect that she'd ask such a personal question. "I don't think we have time for that story," I said, saved by our opportune arrival at Dr. Hopper's office.

"You'll find him on the second floor. But I'm not sure he'll be of much help."

"Thanks, Hannah," she said. I hopped on my bike and headed for my school. By the time I got there I'd be several minutes late. The picnic benches in front of the school were noticeably absent of students by the time I arrived. I quickly locked my bike up and rushed into the building. The hallways of the building were lined with lockers alternating in blue and green. Above them were banners promoting the student government association and the debate team. I walked briskly down the hall, already 20 minutes late for my first class. I slipped in through the backdoor of the classroom in an effort to draw as little attention as possible. Hopefully the teacher wouldn't call out my tardiness if I made an effort not to disturb the lecture. Just as I had the door opened wide enough to enter the hinges groaned loudly. The students shifted their attention from the teacher to the source of the noise. Under their gazes I cowered. Directing my eyes toward the floor I quickly moved to my desk. The teacher, rather perturbed, thanked me for joining them and went back to the lecture. My friend Effy was sitting on the other side of the room and she sent me a text message asking why I was late. I replied that it was a long story and I'd tell her later. We didn't get a chance to speak after our class ended, but we did meet up by the vending machines during lunch as usual. She bought a bag of Doritos and I chose Sour Cream and Onion Lays. We took our chips and our backpacks outside. Effy wore a long brown sweater and as she walked it fluttered behind her like crepe paper in the wind. One hundred yards from the main school building was an abandoned modular. During our freshman year we discovered that we could climb up to the roof by way of a cinder block and the window ledge. Since then we'd taken all of our lunches out there. Effy climbed up first, leaving her backpack with me on the ground. She stepped from the cinderblock onto the window ledge and hoisted herself onto the roof. Her sweater briefly snagged on a nail, but I detached the fabric before it had a chance to tear. I handed her our backpacks and then joined her. We had a perfect view of the ocean from our place on the roof. About fifty yards from us the grassy field tapered off into a cliff of dark boulders piled on top of each other. For most people in Storybrooke, the crashing of waves against rock served as background noise filtering in and out of their daily lives. Further down the coastline, towards the town and docks, the rocks gave way for sandy beaches.

As I opened my bag of chips, Effy pulled a pack of Marlboro Lights and Zippo lighter from her backpack. The lighter was and engraved with her mother's initials. We had found the lighter a year earlier while going through her attic while her father was at work. Effy lit her cigarette and tilted the pack towards me. I shook my head. Mom would have a conniption if she knew I was smoking. Effy tossed the pack back into her bag and lifted her bag of chips to her mouth. She held one side with her teeth and pulled it open with her hand. After taking a drag from her cigarette she popped a chip into her mouth.

"Why were you late this morning?" She asked. I sighed and leaned back on the roof.

"Henry ran away yesterday. My mom's paranoid that he's going to leave again, so now I have to walk him to school."

"Where'd you find him?"

"At the front door. His birth mother brought him back from Boston." Effy's eyes widened and she pulled the cigarette from her mouth.

"How did your mom take it?"

"As well as she ever has." She nodded in understanding. The previous summer I had spent the night at her house without asking my mother for permission. Effy walked me home the next morning. Mom was on the phone with Sheriff Graham, demanding answers about why he hadn't found me when we walked in. She proceeded to lecture us for an hour about all the things that could have happened to me. Many of her arguments were repeated more than necessary. Effy rightly pointed out that nothing bad ever happened in Storybrooke, nothing at all, really. Mom didn't take too kindly to that, and continued with her lecture.

"Do you want to come back to my place later?" Effie asked.

"Its Thursday, dinner at Granny's tonight."

"Would it kill you to blow it off just once?"

"It just might," I said, turning to her with the sternest face I could muster. She raised an eyebrow at me and started laughing, I joined her. Effy laughed with her whole body. The sound resonated deep in her throat and when you looked at her, you could almost see her limbs vibrating. She'd always toss her head back, run her fingers through her hair. When our laughter quieted we both leaned back on the roof, ate our chips, and tried to glipse blue sky beyond the masses of swirling gray.


End file.
